Castiel's Failure
by JustMakeLeftTurns
Summary: He can see Dean's true face – no, not true, new face; he wasn't always … this. A demon. A loyal follower to the new King of Hell – Sam. Kind of Destiel, but doesn't have to be read that way.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters.**

Castiel can only stare at his friend – no, former friend, he reminds himself, feeling a pang of sorrow – when he finally goes to rescue the Winchesters. After all he did, all of the rules he broke to get to this point, the only thing he can do is stare. His throat closes; he's sure that if he tries to speak, he'll sound hoarse. He never realized, never even thought, not once, that this could happen.

And yet, he can see Dean's true face – no, not true, new face; he wasn't always … this. A demon. A loyal follower to the new King of Hell – Sam, Castiel remembers faintly. He can't believe, won't believe, that they've become so dark, so evil, so tainted. They were so strong. Were. In life, Castiel witnessed Sam and Dean fight fate – monsters – heaven and hell – tooth and nail. They never gave up. They taught him humanity. Now, they've fallen farther than he has. There are no traces of humanity in their actions. They aren't Sam and Dean anymore.

He tries to stay stoic. He tries to appear strong, tries to remain emotionless. But Castiel is no longer a good little soldier, not since the Winchesters taught him hurt, pain, love, friendship – and it is because of this that he can only meet Dean's eyes for a single fleeting moment before looking away. But he still sees Dean's smirk, still sees black spread over green eyes.

It's cruel, Castiel thinks. It's still Dean's body, but the demon inside the flesh no longer looks or feels like him.

It's not Dean. Not anymore. Castiel clenches his fist, feels his grace manifest in his palm. He prepares to rid the world of another demon. He knows that he should. But one humorless chuckle from the man – demon – monster leaves him second-guessing. He shouldn't hesitate. It needs to be done.

"You can't do it," Dean – not Dean – tells him, a sneer donning his lips. It's not a question.

Castiel shifts his gaze uncomfortably. "I have to." It isn't an answer.

"Who are you trying to convince?" the monster – demon – not-Dean challenges. He – it – crosses its – his – arms. "Certainly not me."

Castiel forces his eyes up. He swallows. He needs to follow through, at least to wipe the demon off the face of the planet. And then he can burn Dean's body. But he can't allow not-Dean to taunt him, to remind him of who the man was previously. And he could never live with himself if he allowed the demon to wander around. Dean – the real Dean, his friend Dean – would have wanted Castiel to stop him. The human Dean never wanted this for himself – he feared it, hated it. Castiel can't let human-Dean down.

Fighting against the voice in the back of his head screaming at him, Castiel brings his hand forward. But the demon is no longer there. Castiel hears clapping behind him. He whips around.

Not-Dean quirks an eyebrow, amused. "Not bad," he mocks. "But you forget; we're playing in _my_ territory."

Those words do nothing but anger Castiel. Those words should have never been said, not by the demon – the former Dean. Dean belongs on Earth, or in Heaven, not here. In Hell. A tortured soul turned demon. A reminder of Castiel's failure.

Castiel meets not-Dean's eyes, sorrow and determination enveloping his being. "I won't fail you again," he murmured through trembling lips.

Not-Dean smiles, full of sadistic pleasure. A smile that Castiel wishes he never had to see. "But you didn't fail me, Cas!" he says boisterously, mockingly. He spreads his arms out, gestures to the surrounding inferno. "Well, you kind of did. But this is the best failure you ever had!"

Castiel shuts his eyes, tilts his head away. He failed, and this is what happened. He tries to remind himself that it's not Dean – it hasn't been for a long time. He fails at that, too. He opens his eyes, looks down at his hand, brings forth more of his grace. He sees not-Dean shy away from it, from him, but only for a second, before he – it – not-Dean recovers and resumes his stance.

Castiel feels the heat of the fire, the evil seeping from every crack – from every lick and leap of the flames – feels the darkness and the demon he knows is standing before him – but he can't see past Dean's sneering face. He knows what he should do, knows that the real – former – Dean would want.

The grace gathering in his hand dissipates. Not-Dean laughs cruelly, tauntingly, loudly, darkly, and Castiel can't bring himself to finish off the demon. He licks his quivering lips.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, although whether it's to the demon, the real Dean, or to himself is uncertain. He can't be the bigger man – angel – being. He can't fix his failure. So he flies away like the coward he knows he is. Regret eats at him. Perhaps it will for all of eternity, the curse of being immortal.


End file.
